Darn.
* * *
“GOOD MORNING.” GABBY greeted Wyatt from behind the check-in desk. “Did you have a good breakfast? Isn’t Cam a great cook? Do you need anything? Coffee? Tea? Water? The internet password?”
Wyatt hurried past his young, fawning fan. “I’m good.”
A lie. He was still smarting over Ashley’s comment in the diner. How dare she tell him he wasn’t right for the part of some two-bit bandit from the Idaho mountains? He was going to show her just how good he was on horseback later today. That would change her mind. Not that he planned to change his mind about taking the role.
“Gabby.” Laurel stepped out of the apartment behind the desk. She wore a stylish, flowery blue dress. For a pregnant woman, she had style. “Give the man some space.”
Wyatt hadn’t seen Laurel in two days. Was it possible she’d grown larger? Or maybe that was just him, panicking when confronted by what might be his doing.
Do the right thing.
His mother would want him to accept Laurel at her word and stand up to the consequences of his actions. His father would laugh at his predicament and demand the same thing.
Wyatt couldn’t ignore the situation. He turned to face it and Laurel head-on. “Gabby’s fine. Fans have presented me with much worse questions.”
“Like what?” Gabby asked.
Laurel gently shushed her.
There was a “pregnant” pause where the three of them stared at each other.
And then Laurel laughed. A hearty hardy-har-har.
Wyatt remembered that laugh. He remembered thinking on their date that it wasn’t the laugh of his teenage TV crush. On-screen, Ashley had a melodious laugh, one that matched the sweet characters she played.
His body went cold.
It’s true. I’m a father.
Laurel must have seen a change in his expression, an acceptance of fact, because she sobered. “Do you hate me?”
He shook his head, trying to regain some semblance of composure without admitting he was responsible for Laurel’s situation. “My mother always told me it wasn’t right to hate anyone.” She’d told him that in regards to his father. “Are the babies healthy?”
“Yes.” Laurel nodded. “When I first found out I was pregnant, I was terrified you’d seek out revenge against me and Ashley.” She took a step closer, lowering her voice, although Gabby would hear anyway. She was mere feet away. “I was afraid you’d take my babies from me.” She cradled her belly. “Actually, my mother put that idea in my head. But once it was there...” Laurel blew out a breath. “I couldn’t get it out.”
“I heard that.” Genevieve stepped out of the kitchenette, wearing a blue satin bathrobe. Her short, bright red hair was in clips, and her face was covered with a green facial mask. She carried a cup of tea. “I make no apologies. I’m paid good money to be the worst-case scenario thinker in the room.” She stomped upstairs.
“The walls here aren’t much good at keeping secrets,” Laurel said plainly. “When there are walls.”
Wyatt gave Gabby a significant glance. “Should we take this conversation elsewhere?”
“Why?” Laurel reached over to smooth Gabby’s strawberry blond hair. “This young lady’s already heard everything I told you. And she’ll only find a way to hear whatever we talk about if we relocate.”
“Being plugged in is a gift,” Gabby said unapologetically. “But in my defense, those are my baby sisters. I need to watch out for them.” Her expression was so earnest, Wyatt had no doubt she would.
There was another pregnant pause, during which time Wyatt realized he shouldn’t have a conversation about Laurel’s babies if he wasn’t willing to at least admit there was a possibility they were his babies.
Her apartment door was open. He poked his head in for a better look. It was clean but sparsely furnished, mostly because it was as cramped as a New York walk-up.
“All five of you are going to live here?” he asked. Laurel, Gabby, the babies and the overprotective Mitch?
“We’re still trying to figure that out.” Laurel smiled weakly. “An innkeeper needs to be on the premises. But I doubt guests will appreciate babies crying at all hours of the night.”
“You realize that if those babies are mine, this setup is completely inadequate.” So much for staying quiet on the subject.
Gabby scowled.
Laurel’s eyes looked a bit watery. “I know. But I’m not going to lie to you about our situation and the challenges ahead. Just like I wouldn’t expect you to lie to me.”
Touché.
“You can’t judge mine and Ashley’s actions without seeing it from our shoes.” Laurel squared her shoulders and blinked back her tears, giving Wyatt the impression that in the Monroe family, she was Ashley’s protector, not Genevieve. “Ashley has always cared deeply for others. It’s what makes her a good actress, but also what makes her so vulnerable in relationships. It’s why I would stand in for her. As with most actors, her greatest strength is also her greatest weakness.”
Before he could fully ponder Laurel’s words, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, the icon of which was a big, beating heart. “It’s Mitch. He’s down in Boise pitching the historical commission again.” She entered the apartment and closed the door as she answered, leaving Wyatt with Gabby.
“Can I do something for you?” he asked since she was staring.
“That’s my line.” Color rose in the girl’s cheeks as she reached in a desk drawer. “But since you’re asking, will you autograph my copy of this magazine? You’re on the cover. It’s the one where they crowned you the sexiest man alive. Or should I say SMA? That sounds cool, doesn’t it? Like a secret?”
It sounded like a professional abbreviation—PGA, Producers Guild of America; DGA, Directors Guild of America. Let Ashley chase after credentials. Wyatt would chase after cash. He reached for a pen on her desk. “I’ll sign. But after that, no more hero worship. I’m just a guest here, okay?”
“You could never be just anything.” Which made Wyatt feel better about Ashley’s rejection of him for the Mike Moody role, until Gabby yanked the magazine out of his reach. “Unless you try to take my baby sisters. And then you’d be just plain bad.”
CHAPTER SIX
TO WYATT, THE Bucking Bull Ranch, where Ashley took him to ride, looked like a movie set but felt like home.
An old but well-kept white two-story farmhouse with a broad front porch. A big barn. Massive pine trees. Pastures in the distance filled with cattle. White clouds drifting lazily across the blue sky.
Wyatt could feel the atmosphere of the ranch soak through his cowboy boots, adding a strut to his walk. He settled his cowboy hat more firmly on his head. It felt good to get away from the inn and the dad conundrum. And his back was rested, loose even. It had been two years since he’d last ridden, but when he got in the saddle, Ashley was going to see he’d be a natural as Mike Moody.
Closing her SUV’s door, Ashley took him in with a quick glance and a roll of her eyes. “Jeez, can you tone down the movie-star chutzpah, please?”
“Nope. Wyatt Halford is a movie star and a cowboy.” He upped the wattage on his strut if only because it annoyed her. On the drive over, she’d listened to a lengthy weather report on unspeakably high volume, which had annoyed him.
“Movie stars make appearances with wrinkled shirts now?” Ashley teased.
“Perhaps you can loan me your iron.”
“And have you forget to return it? My mother would kill me.” Her blue eyes sparkled.
Wyatt curbed the urge to smile. It wouldn’t do to let on that he enjoyed their banter.
A brunette greeted them from the barn door. Three young boys milled around her. They all wore hats and boots. They all gawked at Wyatt, but not like his fandom, who hoped for something from him—an autograph or a hug ca
ptured in a photo. No. This bunch stared at Wyatt as if he were a seldom-seen curiosity, like the world’s biggest ball of yarn. Something to be gawked at and then forgotten.
“That’s him,” said the tallest boy. He must have been about ten or eleven. He tilted back his cowboy hat with his...wrist? He was missing a hand but didn’t seem self-conscious about it.
Some of the cock drained from Wyatt’s walk.
“He’s just a city slicker, like Jonah,” said the second-tallest boy, sizing up Wyatt and finding him wanting. He looked to be about eight or nine, the same age as Wyatt’s nephews. “Look how new his boots are.”
“They’re not that new,” Wyatt murmured, catching Ashley’s eye.
“If you can’t say something nice...” The youngest boy seemed about kindergarten age. He swung the arm of the brunette cowgirl, hardly interested in Ashley or Wyatt.
Ashley made the introductions. “Wyatt, this is Emily Clark, and you’ve met her nephews—Davey, Charlie and Adam. Emily is the stock wrangler for my production. Zeke works for her.”
“And she’s the one who’s been giving you riding lessons, I presume.” Wyatt shook Emily’s hand.
Little Adam grinned up at Wyatt, still swinging his aunt’s arm. “My granny Gertie likes you.”
“Oh, my goodness. Wyatt Halford.” As if on cue, an old woman stepped out on the farmhouse porch across the ranch yard. She wore a blue chambray shirt, frayed blue jeans and scuffed red cowboy boots. “It really is you. Can I get a picture?” She didn’t wait for permission. She gripped the stair rail and made her way toward them in a careful but hurried walk.
“If only I were twenty years younger,” Charlie said in a falsetto, clearly trying to replicate Gertie’s words.
“Granny Gertie likes your movies.” Davey, the oldest, grinned and slugged Charlie, the middle boy. “Be nice.”
“I’m. Your. Biggest fan,” Gertie said, winded.
Gabby would no doubt argue with Gertie as to who held the number one spot.
“I even liked you when you played the baddie in your last film.” Gertie came to a stop in front of him. She wore false eyelashes but the end of one was waving in the breeze. “Folks need to stretch themselves, whether they be a cowboy or they play one on TV.”
Did no one believe he was an authentic cowboy? Wyatt turned on the charm for Gertie. “Thank you for your appreciation of my work.”
“Hang on. You’ve got a flyer.” Ashley swooped in, gently pressing the false eyelash back in place for the elderly woman. “There you go. Picture-perfect.”
“Almost ready for my close-up.” Gertie yanked up her bra straps. “Em, take my picture with these two stars.”
“Snaparazzi.” Little Adam snapped his fingers like castanets. Over and over.
His brothers chortled.
While Wyatt wondered what “snaparazzi” meant, he and Ashley were herded into bookending Gertie while Emily took their picture. Oddly enough, Ashley’s smile seemed strained. He wondered why, since these were her people. Could it be she was thrown off because Gertie was his biggest fan and not hers?
“You know—” Gertie turned with those careful steps of hers to face Wyatt “—my Percy was one of the original—”
“Descendants of the founding fathers of Second Chance.” Ashley cut her off. “Percy was related to Old Jebediah Clark, the blacksmith whose smithy you saw in town.” She barely acknowledged Wyatt’s nod before continuing. “What are we working on today, Emily?”
“It’s a gallop to pick up gold.” Emily settled her hat more firmly on her head and grinned at the boys before marching off. “The arena is already set up for the stunt. Granted, it’s a bit short, but we don’t have to worry about gopher or prairie-dog holes.”
“We all tried it and ate dirt,” Adam piped up proudly.
“You didn’t have to tell him that.” Davey turned away from Wyatt, blushing.
“I practically fell on my head. In slo-mo,” Charlie admitted, removing his hat to show Wyatt where it’d been creased. “Auntie Em said next time I have to wear a helmet.”
Wyatt smiled and made all the appropriate responses young boys liked to hear. “So this isn’t a trail ride or a simple riding lesson?”
“It’s work,” Ashley said, bristling. “Stunt work. You should enjoy this, Wyatt, since you do all your own stunts.”
And he had an aching back to prove it. But this stunt couldn’t be that risky if the kids were giving it a go. It should be fun.
“Make sure you stop by before you leave, Wyatt,” Gertie said over her shoulder as she headed back to the house. “I’ve got cookies in the oven, just in case I lose a bet.”
The boys chortled and roughhoused their way to the arena.
Ashley followed Emily. No cowboy hat for Ash. She still wore the baseball cap from this morning. Her long red braid swung across her shoulders with each step. She wore a bright green T-shirt proclaiming herself a fan of human kindness. But her boots and blue jeans looked well-worn.
Wyatt wasn’t fooled by the worn boots and blue jeans. They were a fashion statement in Hollywood, faded in the factory, not by use. He fully expected Ash to bounce in the saddle like the Hollywood princess she was.
The youngest Clark latched on to his hand and skipped to keep up with Wyatt’s long stride.
Wyatt’s heart unexpectedly skipped a beat. Kids didn’t grab on to his hand, not even his nephews. But this small boy had seen something in him, felt confident enough to place his hand in Wyatt’s, almost as if he were a trusted friend or uncle or...father.
For years, Wyatt had shied away from serious relationships, wanting his career to be the most important thing in his life. He needed to reach the pinnacle in Hollywood before he slowed down and did justice to a marriage and kids. And nothing had made him doubt that decision until this runt of a cowboy had taken his hand and made him feel as if he was missing something.
Do the right thing.
“Do you have a horse at home, Mr. Wyatt?” Adam asked, staring up at him as if he’d known him since birth.
“I don’t own a horse anymore.” Not since he’d left home for Hollywood. He owned a Ferrari now, which had close to one thousand horsepower at the top end.
“Boys, don’t you have chores to do?” Emily opened the arena gate.
“Yep.” Davey climbed up on the metal railing. “But Granny Gertie bet me a batch of chocolate chip cookies that Ian Bradford could complete the stunt when I said he couldn’t.”
“You bet against me, Davey?” Wyatt caught Ashley’s eye and grinned.
“Yep,” Davey said.
And wonder of wonders, Ashley grinned right back, as if they hadn’t been at odds with each other since his arrival in town.
And in that grinning mental space, he remembered the exception to their sparring ways—the heart-thumping kiss they’d shared on the Lodgepole Inn’s porch. Talk about good memories. And he wanted to make another. But there was an audience and a challenge ahead. “What is this course you’re talking about?”
“It’s a scene from the movie.” Ashley entered the arena, still grinning. “Mike Moody and his gang are robbing a stage. One of the passengers collects everyone’s valuables in a small burlap bag and drops it. Someone gallops up, leans over and snatches it from the ground. Do you want to give it a try? I won’t judge you if you don’t want to. After all, it’s not your film.” Spoken like he had an open invitation for it to be.
He made a show of planting his booted feet. Hitch his train to Ashley Monroe’s wagon? Not in this lifetime.
“Should I have had him sign a waiver?” Emily asked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I don’t want to be sued if he gets hurt. And after all, Charlie almost fell on his head.”
Adam swung Wyatt’s arm. “I’m with Granny Gertie. Mr. Wyatt can do it.”
“Sure can.” And with Adam’s confidence,
Wyatt almost felt like he could do anything. What would it be like to have two little girls who called him Daddy and believed in him?
“Such confidence.” Ashley stared at Wyatt over the back of a compact brown mare. That grin hadn’t faded in the last few minutes. Not so much as a smidge. She was itching to see him try the stunt.
And he was itching to show her what he could do. Just not in this arena.
“You can give it a go on Bumblebee.” Emily checked the girth strap on a huge black horse. “He’s run the course before.” She cleared her throat. “And he’ll slow down if you start to fall. Right, Charlie?”
“Right.” Charlie found this hilarious.
“It seems like the wiser choice is the shorter horse.” Wyatt was many things, but when it came to stunts, he tried not to be a fool.
Emily shrugged and went to adjust the stirrups on the small brown horse. Ashley stepped back to give her space.
Meanwhile, Wyatt did a few squats to warm up and swung his arms. That gave the boys the giggles. They laughed harder when he stretched out his quads and hips.
“Just like a professional athlete.” Ashley wasn’t laughing. In fact, she was no longer smiling. She was looking at him with an expression of concern. “Are you sure you want to do this? You look a little stiff. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Wyatt paused. “Because you need a wedding date to dance with?”
“No.” Ashley scowled.
“Because I’ll be cranky with you if I’m hurt?”
“No.” There came the trademark eye roll.
“I’ve got it.” Wyatt snapped his fingers. “Because I won’t play Mike Moody if I eat dirt.”
“No!”
There was suddenly something different about Ashley. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Except to realize she hadn’t lectured him on a movie genre once.
The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance Page 7